


Semitone

by yaboikawa



Category: Choices: Stories You Play, Pixelberry, The Elementalists (Visual Novel)
Genre: ALL OF IT, Incest, Like, M/M, gratuitous amounts of self-indulgence, listen to do i wanna know/stolen dance and weep with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 00:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18376769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaboikawa/pseuds/yaboikawa
Summary: Atlas has never kissed anyone before. At least not by accident.





	Semitone

"Will you stop looking at me like that?” Atlas says, eyebrow twitching.  
  
You’re sat on the couch, remote control disregarded in your hand, staring at Atlas with complete astonishment in your eyes.  
  
"You said—“ You’re having a hard time wrapping your head around this new information. “You-You've never--"  
  
"I know what I said!" He says, indignant. "And I already regret telling you for the record." He adds, crossing his arms across his chest, and curving his body away from yours. A blush has settled high on his cheeks and ears, and he’s wearing a frown, his lips a little pouty. You feel warm. You’ve finally embarrassed Atlas enough to get him to blush and outright  _pout_. You’re fucking ecstatic.  
  
Your cheeks hurt from the strain of trying not to grin but you're determined not to embarrass Atlas about his shortcomings any more than this. You sigh and reach a hand out hesitantly.  
  
"C'mon it's alright, not everyone has had their first ki-"  
  
"Gaahh!" Atlas covers both his ears and launches into a musical number in his quest for Convo Dominance. He falters for a second as if raking his brain for something to yell, and starts singing Mamma Mia by Abba at the top of his lungs with a resigned look on his face, "Mamma Mia! Here I go again! My my--"  
  
"Did you watch Mamma Mia yesterday?" You can't help it and grin, "Is this why you were coped up in the bedroom all night long with my laptop?"  
  
“Mamma Mia! Na na na…. How can I resist ya!”  
  
Oh god he won’t let up.   
  
"Atlas! You can't fucking sing, we've been through this before. I won't bring it up again.”  
  
He continues on, as if he hadn't heard you. So you lunge at him, aiming to shove your hands in his mouth and shut him up. You swing a leg at his in order to distract him in your fight for ear rights, but you slap his mouth by accident. Atlas lets out a soft, "Mmph." Kicks you in the shin in retaliation and aims for your crotch next.  
  
"No!" You let go of him in order to cover your groin. Eyes shut tight, you tense up for what you know for sure is coming next.  
  
But your future babies are safe..? You squint at him with one eye and belatedly realize that you've ended up lying on your back on the couch, Atlas straddling you. The warmth from his knees on either side of your waist seeps in through your sweatpants and you shiver.  
  
You look to each other’s eyes, his horrified, yours strangely disconnected and confused, and scramble to get off of each other, trip, and in turn find yourselves in a heap on the floor. You elbow Atlas hard in the stomach on your way down and he finally delivers that blow to your dick.  
  
“Ow, you fucker!” You look to him accusatorily, and he’s just wearing the smuggest face you’ve seen him yet wear.  
  
“Got what was coming for ya.” Atlas says and starts to get up, a hand on the floor and the other on the coffee table to steady himself. The asshole has absolutely no regards to your poor future children and thinks he’s won this round.  
  
You swipe at him. He loses his balance, yelps, and head-butts you hard as he lands back on top of you.  
  
"Ooff." You grunt in pain, but it's muffled and there's hot air on your face.  
  
A few beats pass, followed by a harsh intake of breath and Atlas grunting as he pushes himself up on all fours.  
  
You don’t register the metallic taste of blood in your mouth until Atlas shoves at your chest, hurried in getting off of you. You huff at his weight and wince when something warm lands on your neck. You chance a quick glance up to his face, when your eyes land on his lip, dripping crimson. And a wave of nausea washes over you.  
  
He stands up and reaches over to the coffee table. A tissue box lands on your face. You flinch and grab a tissue.  
  
His footsteps get farther away until you distantly hear a door open and close shut, presumably the bathroom door.  
  
It’s quite, save for your occasional snort.  
  
You spit in the tissue, the color a faded red. The after taste is bitter, and a shiver runs throughout your body. You sniffle loudly, and stare at the popcorn ceiling, sitting there for what feels like ages til the bathroom door creaks open and footsteps shift in your direction. Atlas’ face coming into view above yours.  
  
He dabs at the blood drops that had fallen earlier into the side of your neck and slid onto the tile floor with a damp tissue. His lip is cleaned up, but his ears are still dark.  
  
His face has just... stopped. You had prided yourself on being the number one interpreter of Atlas Expressions, but right now you’re totally lost. He just looks detached.  
  
“Hey―“  
  
“Nothing’s happened, alright?” He says, solemnly.  
  
Your stomach twists and turns. Your hands clenching reflexively. And even as you look into his eyes as they dart about, landing on anything but your own, you try to read into his mind.  
  
And come up with nothing.  
  
You guess twin telepathy is just a myth after all.  
  
“Right-“ You swallow thickly. ”Yeah.”

 

♦

 

The distant noises coming in from the TV in the living room just won’t stop distracting you from your studies.  
  
You’ve been sat on your bed for two hours, pencil chewed up raw, staring at the textbook in front of you. You’ve memorized the qualities of each attunement to memory. But that’s only because you already knew them beforehand.  
  
Your mind keeps wandering to your brother. His face after you’d cut his lip –horrified— and the fact that now, he can’t stand to be in the same room as you for more than ten minutes at a time.  
  
It’s… weird. What had happened. You felt queasy afterwards, as if you drank something you shouldn’t have. And the more you think of how disgusted he probably is with you, having shared his –technically- first kiss with his twin, the more your heart hurts.  
  
But he shouldn’t shift the blame on you. It was an accident after all, you think, and catch yourself before the thought turns into a bitter one.  
  
You rub your eyes with your forefinger and thumb. It’s been a long day.  
  
Your magick’s been acting out more than usual. Atlas’ too. And you really don’t think leaving yourself this vulnerable emotionally when your magick’s unstable is a good idea.  
  
You get up, and slowly approach the door to your room, opening it enough to peek outside into the living room.  
  
Atlas’s face is hidden behind his own textbook on Beginner's Companion To Fantastic Stones – Geology being the only class the two of you don’t share. The room is dim save for the light coming in from the TV. He’s snoring softly, and you let out a soft breath in turn.  
  
You creep towards him, then. His shirt has ridden up his torso, and you wince at the position he’s sleeping in. He’s  _so_  flexible and your face heats up as you think of the time you toppled over when you tried to stretch backwards.  
  
You grab the textbook with both hands and lift it from his face, careful not to wake him up, and place it on the coffee table. He twitches slightly, and stills.  
  
You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding and it’s only when it reaches him does he stir awake.  
  
“What’s wron’” He slurs.  
  
Your Adam’s apple bobs as you swallow thickly, “You should come sleep on your futon.” You whisper, head tilted towards your room.  
  
He regards you for a second before he throws his legs to the side of the couch, tsking at the state his shirt is in, and fixes it up. “Fine.” He says, voice hoarse.  
  
You really need to drink some water because your throat is dry as hell as you look at him, face now illuminated by the light coming in from the TV screen. His eyes are heavy-lidded with sleep, hair sticking out in odd places. Adorable, you think, and mentally slap the night-shift management in your brain.  
  
There’s a red mark on his forehead from where the textbook has been mere minutes ago.  
  
“Do you want to use the bathroom?” You say.  
  
Atlas shakes his head,  _no,_  and disappears into the bedroom.  
  
You brush your teeth and pee, taking your time. You head back to your room afterwards, but you halt in your tracks, your face morphing from confusion into irritation as you stand in the doorway.  
  
“Atlas, you jerk!”  
  
He smirks, and burrows deeper into your blankets, legs and arms spread wide, taking up all the space on your bed.  
  
“It’s your turn on the futon, dearest brother.” He says, and lifts his leg threateningly in your direction when you take a step forwards. “I don’t think so.” He taunts.  
  
You whine, because you’re a nineteen year-old toddler, and trudge to the futon, lowering yourself on it when you reach it.  
  
It smells like Atlas when you lift the covers over your head, blocking the moon light filtering in through the window across from you. And you inhale deeply before sleep consumes you.

 

♦

 

You’re back at Dean Goeffe's house, the rock monster relentless in his attacks on Atlas.  
  
His magick is bright, strong and pulsating around you, but you’ve no way of intervening or helping him. You’re stuck in place. Body paralyzed. And no matter how loud you shout, calling out to him, nothing reaches him.  
  
His eyes are ablaze, aura fiery and red. His posture is that of a cat’s, hunched back and hair raised. He’s protecting something.  
  
Or someone, you soon realize, as he’s hurled to the far wall of the mansion by a huge rock sent his way.  
  
It’s… you.  
  
Motionless.  
  
Your body is on the floor in a pool of its own blood, a faint blue aura engulfing it.  
  
Atlas’s face swivels in your body’s direction, and for the first time since you’ve laid eyes on him, he looks scared. And you think you know why, as the halo around your figure pulsates dimly.  
  
He rushes forwards, face screwing up in pain as he trips and falls onto his knee, the crack resounding in your ears over and over. He grunts in pain, but pushes forwards till he reaches your still body. He places your head on his lap and cradles your face in bruised hands.  
  
The hulking creature looms over him as he murmurs onto your forehead.  
  
Atlas’ body is sprung tight, face screwed up and dirtied. He’s brushing your cheeks tenderly in contrast with his increasingly insistent voice.  
  
Past the numbness you’re feeling, you think he must be placing a charm on your body.  
  
It’s grey now. The aura around it.  
  
Tick, tock.  
  
A clock.  
  
You look for it as the creature’s face twists into a smile, the rocks framing his face moving about in abstract shapes, his teeth crystals that reflect the light off of Atlas’ body.  
  
Tick, tock.  
  
You find it atop a mantelpiece, framed in a golden design. The hands are frozen, almost midnight, and your eyes widen.  
  
“Atlas! Get out of here!” You shout, as he looks up at the rock monster. His face absolutely calm. Dread strikes your core and you struggle in your constraints, feeling immense heat boiling deep inside you.  
  
“You need to-“ You grunt as you free an arm, stretching it out to him, “You need to get out of here!”  
  
The clock strikes midnight.  
  
He looks down at you. The aura has collected in your core. What remains of your soul.  
  
Tick, tock.  
  
His face softens, and he leans forwards.  
  
Tick.  
  
Atlas breathes you in, and kisses you.  
  
Tock.  
  
Your heart thumps loud in your chest, and you can’t tear your eyes away from his face, his mouth on yours.  
  
Tick.  
  
The monster lifts a boulder.  
  
“Atlast!”  
  
He lifts his head and looks in your direction, eyes widening.  
  
Tock.  
  
There’s a sickening crack as a huge bolder connects to the side of Atlas’ head.

 

♦

 

“Atlas!” You shoot up, gasping for breath.  
  
“I’ve got you. I’m right here, baby.” Atlas is on his knees next to you on the futon, brushing away the damp hair from your face. “Shhh, you’re alright, you’re safe with me.” He presses your face to his heart, and kisses the top of your head.  
  
_Thump. Thump.  
  
_You hiccup, and soon bury your face in his chest, snot and tears soaking into the dampening fabric.  
  
“I thought-“ You gasp, clutching at him. ”A-and then you- I kept-kept telling you to l-leave—“ You mumble incoherently into his chest.  
  
“Shhh, it was all a dream. Just a measly dream.” He says, fingers weaving through your hair. “It won’t ever hurt you, I won’t allow it.”  
  
And as he says that, bile rises in your throat. You swallow heavily a few times before pushing away from him and promptly retching on the futon.  
  
He jumps back in alarm, and hurriedly grabs the trash-can in the corner of your room, placing it right under your head just as you throw up in it.  
  
Your throat burns after you empty your stomach, gagging a few times before you finally settle back on the futon, and take deep breaths.  
  
Atlas is there right away with tissues and a bottle of water. You take them gratefully, rinsing your mouth with water and spitting it out in the trash-can afterwards. You wipe your mouth and chin with the tissues he gave to you. He takes the bottle and disappears again.  
  
You’re exhausted, and your throat hurts. Head pounding in tandem with your heart.  
  
Atlas soon returns with a clean cup of water that he places on the nightstand, and a damp cloth to clean up the sweat and tears from your face and neck.  
  
“…Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, hesitant, and wipes at your face lightly.  
  
You shake your head, not really trusting your voice to cooperate with you just yet.  
  
He takes a deep breath, “Okay.” And nods.  
  
A couple minutes pass by in complete silence as he finishes patting up your face, save for the occasional whistling of the wind picking up.  
  
“I’ll just get back to—“ Atlas says, about to get up.  
  
“Don’t go.” You murmur, tugging at the hem of his hoodie.  
  
He regards you for a second, face blank, before sighing.  
  
“Okay, well, just come up to the bed.” He tilts his head, inviting you to  _your_  bed. “It’s way more comfy.”  
  
“Oh, really?” You say, voice hoarse just as you expected it would be. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, feigning irritation as he turns around and climbs into the bed, pulling the covers over his body.  
  
You huff and smile at the back of his head as you in turn get up and climb into the bed besides him. You’re careful that you don’t touch, tilting your body away from his.  
  
It proves to be tougher than you thought, though, what’s with the bed being tiny and all. And after you flinch each time his feet graze yours accidentally, he sighs heavily, “What’s wrong.” He deadpans. “You’re the one who wanted to cuddle.” He emphasizes the word ‘cuddle’.  
  
“I didn’t ask to cuddle,” You reply, annoyed. And after a while when he doesn’t reply, “I’m sorry, I just…” You trail off, not knowing what to say. You have this urge to just  _be_  around him, but you’re still shaken up by that dream, and the… kiss.  
  
He moves closer to the walls and curls in on himself. He looks so tiny, head bowed inwards, spine curved outwards. Yet his shoulders are wide and strong. He could hold the world up with those shoulders.  
  
You think they’re probably firm under the touch.  
  
But you’re not thinking as you reach out to touch him. He tenses up, but doesn’t push you away. So you scoot up behind him, and you wrap your arm around his waist. “I’m sorry.” Your breath fans out against his neck, and he shivers.  
  
“I know. I am too.” He whispers back, and lets his hand rest atop yours, pressing it closer to his chest, where his heart rests, beating a steady rhythm.

**Author's Note:**

> i needed to get this out of my system yall like u wouldn't believe sfdsfdfgjhfhgf


End file.
